


Where No-one Finished Their Meals

by Jam_Jellyfish



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Getting Down On It, M/M, Post-Sburb, Soppy Boyfriends, idk man just so much fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jam_Jellyfish/pseuds/Jam_Jellyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I, Karkat Vantas, am disgracefully flushed for the ridiculous and ludicrously dense John Egbert."<br/>Where the appearance of Karkat's butt, and the abandonment of meals leads to many developments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Homestuck fanfiction, so apologies for any mistakes and such.  
> Enjoy if you can, and sorry if not~

He is Karkat Vantas, renowned leader and perpetual self-loather, he can... yeah okay you know what? No. No more of this objective narrative garbage, I could go on parading foolishly in this voyeur bravado just to escape the reality and hoofbeast heavy gravity of the predicament I’d shamelessly clawed myself horn-deep into, but even I could not dupe myself into believing that ‘no, this could not be happening’. So rather than surreptitiously dance around the luminous and bare-ass obviousness that is my fucking heart on a platter, I’m going to head-butt face first into mortification and address the situation with the honour only befitting the fucking magnificent knight that I am. And yes I could write you an essay of gold star splendour, bringing the totality of educators everywhere to their knees, on the catastrophe that is my entire existence, but even cool-kid-ass-wipe Strider would tip his hat in recognising that I was born for this suit of armour; chinks be-damned. 

Digressing like a motherfuck here, why is it I can brave the calamity of the apocalypse fangs bore and sickle glinting by the ignited sun; but when opening the safe door branded and stapled with fliers reading; “KEEP THE FUCK OUT UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE SUFFOCATED IN THE AVALANCHE THAT IS KARKAT VANTAS’ IGNORED FEELINGS,” my troll body’s inventory is suddenly one spine short? I am the wriggler, it is me. Yeah so be prepared for the calamity, the bile-rising hideousness that is my confession. 

I, Karkat Vantas, am disgracefully flushed for the ridiculous and ludicrously dense John Egbert. Dense being the operative fucking word here, for if ‘dense’ were a stallion he’d be the proud rider, galloping into the lands of ignorance with his sword of stupidity slaying the terrifying beast of pure common sense. Resentfully, I can admit that if my heart rested anywhere it’d be on my sleeve, anyone with two brain cells to rub together could see the laughable worship I harbour for this human. But no, John Fuckface overlooks the emotions that brew a massacre to the entirety of my body, each lopsided buck-toothed grin flogging my chest till my lungs are punctured. Every god damn glance begetting the reprehensible colour of red to my face, each hug, every single cursed touch... if it weren’t for the fact that Egbert possessed a virtue of Victorian maiden proportions his face would have been on my nook fucking eons ago. 

So I have resigned myself to the chore of torturous restraint, training with bears in the mountains and meditation under a waterfall has nothing compared to subduing the unfathomable urge to fuck the glasses off of Egbert’s face. Primal yearning the most gruelling of instincts to discipline, from the years of vanquishing such an impulse it should be considered an art, the beast within me on many occasion quarrelling with my principles but it’s safe to say with the toss up of branding the human as mine through force and enduring the agony to not turn into a monster – thankfully, the latter won out. 

Not to say that things would be so much simpler if John would just get a fucking clue, or even better if he accepted the clue I’ve parcel wrapped with a pink ribbon on top multiple times, but he is either purposely averting eye contact with my pity or just veiled in his own naivety. Either way, I’m being fucking tortured by his idiotic adorableness. And I truly do not believe, I can withstand much longer.

Especially when the squishy asshole of my dreams, is not a homosexual (whatever the ever-loving fuck that is).

***

Of course merging civilisations poles apart came with ramifications, you’d have been an idiot (Egbert) if you’d expected instant compatibility. Trolls had an instinctive feral nature, no we weren't utter savages fastening severed heads on sticks and chanting around a fire with our flowing loincloths, but at the drop of a hat we can alter from civilised to beastly. Humans basically treading on eggshells in the first few months of co-existence around any horned creature they encountered, which never fucking helped matters since it only fuelled the brewing indignation. Despite being completely understandable, they seem to forget that they’re just as alien to us as we are to them, and we had the fucking decency to endure any incongruity seeing it as a respectively diverse culture.

We learned, and unfortunately the humans feared. 

Obviously this was not all one-sided, trolls just as responsible for the unbearably difficult first six months; I on more than one occasion offending the odd mother and scaring a few more children (admittedly initially for shits and giggles with Gamzee, but karma comes to bite you on the ass when one of the kids woof-beasts chased me across an entire fucking continent). It tended to slip the mind of a troll how absurdly fragile human beings were, both emotionally and physically, often mistaken for intentional assault and sometimes not. 

That wasn't even the worst of it, because of course even in a world seeking inter-species harmony and cooperation, there would be the prejudice of the traditionalists. More in the case of the humans than our kind (again not that we were complete saints either), Rose enlightened the possibility at the very beginning, it was a consistent mannerism that plagued the old Earth so needless to say it would inevitably convert to a planet accommodating two species even when created by our own hands. From what Dave and John divulged the discrimination we received was not even on par with the shenanigans fundamentalists got up to in their previous planet, but it was still emotionally wounding. 

John, for some odd reason, taking more of an offence than your average troll. It still disturbs me to this day the face Egbert beheld when an anti-troll conformist threw a bucket of paint at the back of my head, riddled with livid poison in such clear azure eyes a whole brand-spanking new side of him unearthed. Our roles reversed, it was me who had to pry John’s each individual finger from the scum-bags throat. Truthfully, despite being a scarring experience seeing first-hand that some humans are capable of being just as brutal as a high-esteemed troll, a smug as shit silver lining emerged through the rust coloured cloud of animosity: John became scrupulously protective. 

Memories that will perpetually linger like a stink at the back of my mind came from those months, nights of John escorting me home studying the streets with venomous scrutiny, his arm brushing against my own and tremulous fingers hooked together in grey and pink. Guarding my vulnerable back while bending to retrieve ingredients for that evening’s experimental meal, glaring blisters at any who dared to lay a fingernail on me and biting the hand of the sucker who did like a pup. Ascending from his seat at any collar muffled comment or bold insult, occasionally not having the speed to stop him from doing a u-turn and formally introducing his fist to their face. Reluctantly I had to implore him to stop with the outbreaks since I was more than capable of shielding my own backside thank you very much, being seen with a human bodyguard making me look like a petulant wriggler and I didn't need that shit laid on me. Nonetheless regardless of the interventions and bro-feels-fest with Dave, John was still as unpredictable as the weather and tenacious in his alleged justice.

Yet, years after the depleted and near extinct antagonistic movements (the activists pitifully outweighing the conservatives) now a reformed equilibrium constructed between both humans and trolls alike, John remained sensitive to trollism even when the entire fucking galaxy was so over it. 

Thus, in the present day trolls had the opportunity to work, or not depending on your laziness, troll food brands were advertised on every billboard at every corner and most heart-warmingly – inter-species relationships were finally acknowledged. The sentimental queer that resides under the thick armour of my burly masculinity would almost say that life for trolls everywhere had the potential at being perfect, my own included if John would just drop the blockades and let me grab his crotch already.

***

Giving the humans their dues, culinary skills is one aptitude that they are well-endowed, some of the weirdest looking piles of insect-bile surprisingly being the most tolerable. Like cereal, holy lusus of grist, I could willingly bathe in fucking bucketfuls of 'Coco Pops'. When first introduced I was gravely squeamish at the idea of eating something floating in what could only be described as moo-beat genetic material. But after several primary demonstrations and PowerPoint presentations, I understood the true origin of the white water – however the fact that I am putting something down my gut that was squeezed from a teat, and enjoying it, boded oddly with me for a while. 

My meticulous addiction to sugary breakfast cereals did cause a few squabbles though to be fair, myself clearing the cupboards of the ‘Frosties’, ‘Lucky Charms’ and ‘Crunchy Nut’. Everyone eventually understanding that if they wanted a breakfast they fucking hide it, which to my great chagrin lead me to having to buy my own. 

Notwithstanding some trolls reacted less sanguinely to human food, Gamzee acquiring a mouth full of ulcers after he vacuumed a plate of salad and in more extreme cases Kanaya had to be rushed to troll hospital a fever spiking and vomiting half of her bodily fluids when having just a lick of vanilla glaze. Very few of our kind could accustom comfortably to this new worlds comparatively far more popular human food, on the lip of mutinies when the notion of trollian culture being threatened was rolled around.

Luckily before everyone flipped their shit companies had an explosive mind fuck to add the ‘Troll Option’ to every menu, or just stick the word in front of the conventional restaurant to present that it acclimatized to our species. Terezi humorously utilising her keen sense of smell and taste to catering, owning her own upmarket Alternian themed bistro and as bitter as I am I can surprisingly give credit where it’s due (the audience gasp in shock), her cooking is fucking delicious.

And yeah you may have realised that our little gaggle of awkward’s and retards are still lodging with one another, the idea of separating with the faces that held yours while combating and witnessing hell in its truest form bringing silent pain to each of us. Personal space was a given though, we weren’t clinging to each other’s ankles and engaging in best-buddy-for-life orgies or whatever, we just have bonds that run thicker than iron.

We all decided a living arrangement that best suites our preferences and relationships would be more efficient, for instance the thought of sharing a flat with Terezi and Dave while they copulate their sickening flushed matespritship explicitly with just a wall of plaster dividing us almost had me pouring acid in my eyes; so that was a no-no. It goes without saying that I wrestled to my almost metaphorical death to earn the trophy of being John’s roommate, but of course life cannot cut me some fucking slack and handed me two more bulge-biters to our arrangement making it almost impossible to cop-a-fucking-innocent-and-well-deserved-feel of John’s grandiose sculpted rump.

Said buttocks were seated at table’s width from my spoon occupied hand, a spill of black hair staining the counter top as he battled the smoky throes of drowsiness. 

John decided to pursue a musical career, being a pianist for not only Terezi’s restaurant on the side but was also an apprentice for a musician to educate human brats. Not only did this bring him expressive satisfaction but also relentless exhaustion, his ‘senpai’ having a wrath of a beef-cake military drill sergeant.

“Ahhh, fingers come back to me you have so much to live for.” John embellished, turning his palms to the ceiling and shaking them in mock desperation. 

Being a greedy little shit I shovelled five more miserably petite dollops of ‘Honey Cheerio’s’ into my mouth, lips smacking before speaking (if I’d kept my wits about me without getting caught I’d still be getting away with having my morning portion in a baking bowl with a ladle, until John screamed at me for being a glutton and apparently; “ruining any cooking experience since now all I can envision is the hilarious image of you widening your gob like a whale to swallow an entire scoop of ‘Krave’, just dig a trench in the garden and eat with a shovel already.”).

“It’s your own fucking fault dipshit. Why anyone would go to the trouble of suffering that meat-head’s training strategy, just for the sake of then having to endure mucus encrusted kids is beyond me. Speaking of which, he should not have muscles up to his fucking ears. Its borderline comical to see that beast of a man shit out Mozart from his gorilla fingers, I mean what does he do to even get that butch, deliver a spine-tingly rendition of Wilhelm Kempff’s sonatas with the piano balanced in the air by his feet? The man is a mountain, it doesn’t compute with his field.” 

John spent the majority of my tirade laughing, causing some words to hitch at the back of my throat as a mesh of tingles ruptured at the base of my spine. His laugh was a pool of liquid electricity that smooth’s over my skin sparking with blush-inducing tremors, it was shameful how smitten that stupid, ugly (gorgeous, drool-worthy, beautiful, handsome, _god_ ) moron left me. 

John’s head was propped by a swollen fist, puffed to a tender pink from onerous labour and incessant music-making, with an earnest grin hooking his lips; “Karkat if I’m going to get anywhere, and fast, I need a good teacher. Yeah he’s a little over-enthusiastic, and I was a little dubious at first when he made me get on my knees and propose to the piano seeing as it’ll, oh no wait, she’ll be my new lady-love – but it’s for the greater cause of getting my dream job.”

“I thought your dream job was to be a full-time ‘Original Prankster’.”

“That’s not a dream, it’s a reality.”

I lifted a brow into my cereal bowl, “That’s contrary to popular belief, but whatever helps you sleep at night snot-stain.”

“Anyway, enough about muscular men and the joys they bring, Gamzee told me you’d finally landed yourself a job, man that’s pretty amazing news why didn't you let me know sooner!”

Because the only thing I want to talk about when John is in the vicinity, is John, “Calm your shit ass-lick, it’s far from a jaw-dropping development that calls for twirling on the banks of a meadow were the hills are alive with the sound of music. Besides it’s a crappy bartending joint that’s dead in the daylight and barely breathing at night, hardly the mother-load.”

He reached across the table to bump a fist to my arm playfully, the corner of a knuckle barely stroking my upper arm which was enough to make my nose to burn; “Still I’m happy for you Karkat, I thought you’d never get out of the funk.”

Slightly pinched by his waning expectations of my motivation I deliberately on accident kicked his shin; “There wasn’t a funk for me to be in dickhead, every job out there was just so soul-damningly boring I was not going to bust my ass for something that made me loathe my life more than I already do.”

John, still rubbing his bruised shin to health, incredulously blew through his lips; “Yeah, yeah, blah blah, just because you’re dog-piling the true motive with nonsense doesn’t veil the reason why there’s an indefinite alien ass-print on our coach; you just couldn’t be bothered.”

I chose to ignore his conquering tone as I poured my third helping of breakfast, “Yes, yes, I’m a useless nookstain, whose existence is the equivalent to a hardened piece of gum stuck on the nether-regions of a trash can.”

Since the months he’d assigned himself as my defender, John’s had a particular abhorrence to my self-disparagement, vouching my kindness and substance a heartbeat after any comment I sputter that remotely can be categorised as ‘self-contempt’. It wasn't an unknown thing for John to get acutely passionate to a level where he’d place both hands to the sides of my face and refuse to unleash till I matched his intense gaze reciting these words like swearing an oath; “ _I am Karkat Vantas, and I am worth something, I am aloud to like myself because I am an amazing troll who deserves to be happy._ ”

So the scowl that infused to John’s face was to be expected, the heady weight of his disapproving stare eventually disclosing a quiet but sincere ‘sorry’ out of me.

A nod of satisfaction eradicated that frown to a one million watt beam that caused very confusing things to conjure in my belly; “So, when do I get to see you at your finest? Where is this bar, I want to see you in uniform.”

“Well, if memory serves me correctly it’s in the hell-no district left of in-your-fucking-wet-dream’s street.”

John groaned stretching his arms along the table, a pleading look attempting to beget my sympathy, yes I was helplessly flushed for the guy but would not so willingly blow any miniscule chance I have that I would risk having him see me in black tie falling ass over tit with a tray of Martini’s in one hand and a dishrag in the other. 

“C’mon Karkat, you’ve seen me at work loads of times, it’s only fair that I come see you too.”

A Cheerio bounded from my chin courtesy of John’s spoon sling-shot, “You work from home idiot, of course I’m going to walk into you playing the piano. Besides there is no way in hell that I am going to subject myself to your relentless ridiculing, and I just know you’ll haul Strider to enjoy the show that’ll torment me to my death bed over the bow tie so no, you will not and cannot come.” 

His hands had assembled into prayer position, my resolve severely weakening beneath those torturously desperate eyes so breath-taking I needed a paper-bag; “I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour, you won’t even know I’m there I _swear_.”

“The answer remains John; no, and that’s fucking final, now eat your damn breakfast before I choke you with it.”

Deciding to sulk, his eyebrows pressed southward as he idly poked as his now-chilled toast. Every now and then he’d brave a swift glance to my left-turned face (at each glimpse my hands would judder a little fiercer), opening and closing his mouth with broken sentences that fell back down his throat. Knowing I couldn’t resist his pouting for much longer I sighed, rubbing the back of my warm neck.

“Look it’s not your fault okay; I’m just embarrassed is all. I... I know that if you’re there I’ll get nervous and end up acting like a tool so – yeah.” Before I could spout any more drivel I held a spoon between my fangs, stressing as to whether my mention of becoming uneasy at the expense of John’s presence gave away too much. 

As always I gave John’s intelligence more credit than it’s worth his response a simple chuckle that blew through the courageousness of my very-subtle-and-not-quite-confession; “Aww, Karkat it’s only me,” it’s because it’s you dumbass, “A man’s word is his vow, I promise there will not be any surprise hugging, pickup line hollering or pants pulling the entire time I am there.”

I entertained the proposition for longer than I would have liked, it took me until I’d spoken to realise that I had actually seriously considered yielding to his pleas; “Even wolf-whistling?”

“Even wolf-whistling,”

Not that I didn't enjoy his weird flirtatious lip-flute noises, but it did unspeakable things to my heart that’d leave me hyperventilating over a customer which is both inappropriate and life-threatening, John more than aware of the effects this does to me and took full advantage of his new weapon to earn anything he happened to have wanted. Although I don’t see why he thought he’d need to go to that extent, he could ask me for the moon and I’d hijack a rocket.

Mumbling in a cup I grumbled; “I’ll think about it.”

“Yay!”

God, heart be still.

After the palpitations I resumed in my scoffing, John watching with a ponderous grimace; “I still don’t get how you can eat so much of that sugary crap and not gain, like, 100 pounds in fat why are you still so skinny?”

“So sue me, I was born to be a hideously skinny asshole, defenceless and weak. Besides trolls don’t function similarly to your fucked up bodies, nor are we so obsessive at what we put in our mouths that we cry after having one fucking cookie and do a lap across the Pacific.”

“I’m just saying that it’s highly unfair, the future looks grim for the nickname I have harboured till the day you have more rolls than a Bakery, when it shall be released for the world to worship.” Forlornly he sighed. 

Warily I dared to ask; “What nickname?”

The fucker grinned like tomorrow wasn't a thing when he sang out; “Karfat.”

“You bitch.”

Giggling, his supposedly crippled fingers resumed in pinching at his toast, tearing an odd and end to nibble on. He frowned at me suddenly and my spoonful remained suspended in mid-air on its journey to my mouth; “While we’ve touched base on the subject, can I just say that no matter how many times I tell you off, you still decide to eat like an animal, seriously I might invest in some raincoats you get food everywhere.”

“Well I’m sorry for being enthusiastic to fill my bottom-less pit of a stomach, if you’d prefer I’ll fast till it’s barking for a morsel leads me to devouring your fingers, which apparently are now rendered useless, just to save my ears the chore of listening to your fucking complaining.”

His aforesaid appendages were held up in surrender; “Whoa there my main man, I’m just saying it’ll be nice to eat my breakfast without an open washing machine directly opposite.”

My knife slit eyes rolled as I stood, “Fucking fine then, my breakfast and I can spend our time together elsewhere.”

I bee-lined for the door to only be stopped by John’s hand reaching for the hem of my elastic ‘Super Mario’ printed pyjama bottoms. Unfortunately I’d chosen that day to sleep commando throwing on the pants to protect my honour, so not only did John succeed in halting my retreat but also got a HD once in a lifetime view of Karkat Vantas’ glisteningly virginal cherub butt.

(It’s surprising how silence can be scathing, like a blanket of razors; really it would be ridiculous to break it. Even if I could, I’m sure nonsensical drivel would be all my time lagged tongue could stammer. Of course this interlude between shock and realisation is insufferably short, I would be happy to amble in this cavity of reality, but alas it was inevitable that my mortification would pummel me senseless John’s laughter being the blunt weapon to beat me unconscious.)

Time came rushing back too quickly whiplashing me with several startling emotions; surprise, anger, awareness and then humiliation. My body couldn’t handle the onslaught of such raw sensations circling me layer after layer, knees quivering with the incentive to buckle but they only locked and I was rigid as a pole. 

“Karkat...” That voice conferring my mortal death.

“Yes, John.”

“You never told me that...” 

Well this little piece of heaven sure isn’t something to sneeze at, so I suppose I’m grateful for the tremendous, albeit short, time I managed to maintain on this rock of a planet without culling myself with an iron rod. My regret being only that I hadn’t wriggled my way into Egbert’s pants any sooner, oh, and for not serving that sick burn I’d tucked away in my ‘Notes of Possible Ways to Ruin Strider and Smack that Shit Eating Smirk of his Ugly Face’. This shall be my end, I’m going to die.

“You never told me that you had butt dimples. I can charge you for withholding that little nugget of information from me; it’s too cute not to tell.”

What the fresh fuck?

Backside still exposed enough to feel a chilling draft my torso jerked till I witnessed John fascinated in appraising it, engrossed in his new discovery an absent hand ventured with the intention of poking the said dimples. But having found something new to amuse himself with, that hand clutched his shaking stomach as he became breathless with giggles.

“Oh my, haha! It’s gone pink, oh gosh your butt blushed, I can’t take this so early in the morning ahaha!” 

Finally releasing the garment the elastic whipped back to my waist, an added sting that was unregistered beneath the fire that ignited a scarlet glow throughout my entire body. Doubled over in a fit, John’s hands planted to his knees as he coughed up chortles aimed to the floor. 

It wasn't long till a manner of sense graced me, and as calm as handing John a newspaper I placed my bowl atop the crown of his head. Upside down. 

I left the room that morning with the triumphant sound of milk cascading to the ground blessing my eardrums, John’s silence coiling around my pride and stroking it.

***

I’d like to think that I didn't venture from my room the rest of that day as a statement of my resentment, an exclamation mark forewarning any fool who had the impudence to darken my doorway – but the truth could only allude my mind for my own benefit for twenty minutes before the dawning of my ridiculousness resulted in this self-decreed penance. 

The offence: through the expected full-body paroxysms of shame an undertone of arousal reared its hideous head. This was for no other reason than that no-one has ever had the misfortune aside from my beloved lusus of feasting their eyes on the Vantas buns; it elicited a tremble of apprehension but with a dash of a thrill. I’m just going to go right ahead and break the forth wall here because look; before you make any kind of misconstrued impression of me, no I am not one who has a particular waste-chute fetish that floats my non-existent boat, I am not the cover troll for ‘Grab that Ass and Kiss It’. 

Yeah so, ass isn’t a thing I worship. 

It was for the pure and simple reason that John not only nonchalantly shrugged off the appearance of my backside without projectile vomiting (evoking a flicker of hope that I quickly quelled), but his comment included the word ‘cute’. The residue sentences that followed had amalgamated into a noiseless blur, that simple four-letter word resonating in the confines of my think pan pounding left, right and centre like someone threw a brick into a washing-machine. 

However, female flailing aside, my sulk lead John to believe that I now hated him… which completely threw a spanner in the slow moving mechanism of our potential matespritship, bringing it to an eternal and heartbreaking halt.


	2. Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As unresolved misunderstandings are left to simmer, a minor fuck-up can be crowned as explosive.

Since the unwelcome and awkward appearance of a certain someone’s butt cheeks, there has been a chilling and brittle box that settles over John and me. One wrong move and a hole will puncture its delicate surface filling its confines with water leaving us both gasping and leading to one of us running for the hills. And I knew it’d be me, when things were already as dire as an off-key musical with an out-of-tune orchestra and a flat cast of over-actors, what other way was there to go but down, down, down into the abysmal ditch of ‘lost chances’. 

So I started to avoid him. 

Through no fault of John’s, of course, because unmistakably it could only be me who’d blow this tiny situation way out of proportion. Who else would practically knee-jerk their way out of a room when occupied by the bespectacled human, abruptly stopping mid-conversation to forget something in another room? I was terrified, maybe if I’d had a far less dramatic reaction to John’s discovery then there would be no room for suspicion, alas I’ve left a gorge for it to inhabit, cosy up and feel right at home. My apprehension of facing him only drawing things out and digging my own grave deeper and deeper, I now practically wore the awkwardness like a badge.

To begin with evading John wasn’t particularly hard since our schedules were not compatible to begin with what with his severe training and my room-dwelling, the only times we were graced with one another’s presence was on Thursday mornings and Sunday evenings (piss off, no, I do not keep track) during which he’s too exhausted and ravenous to honour me a single glance and I too busy pining for a single syllable to fall from his lips toward me that I end up remaining silent and creepy. 

At least he knew I was there, at least I knew there was an awaiting space for me to not be a complete ignoramus and dazzle him with my witty charm. 

But now, after making a spectacle of myself and the days thereafter, my precious Thursday mornings are met not with the endearing complaints from the love of my life but the bleak four walls of my respiteblock. Sunday evenings spent at Terezi’s restaurant not daring to enter a home were the hallways were thick with heat and the smell of gravy, John most probably waiting at the dinner table with an accomplished grin as our roast lies at our plates rolling out fragrant steam. 

I missed him, so much that the loneliness rubbed the insides of my gut raw, but I was too terrified to face him. 

So I blew it, there was not a doubt in my mind that my standoffish behaviour had ruined any chance of John and I becoming closer.

“You are so melodramatic, you’ve been placed in the most minor of hiccups and you’ve disillusioned yourself into believing that it’s not a hiccup but a fucking lodge in your throat. The solution is simple Karkat, walk up to him and apologise for the milk shower. It wouldn’t even take you a sentence, just five letters at most.”

My fork swirled the deliciousness of Terezi’s Alternian carbonara (a blended dish of human and troll cuisine), her grey hands latched to an apron-clad hip. The fact that three troll’s have consecutively given me the answer I didn’t want soured my mood further, the crisp smell of bacon having no appeal. 

I squared with her blind eyes with a disgruntled expression she couldn’t see but certainly hear in my voice; “If it was as simple as that don’t you think I would have done it by now?”

The female troll was taking advantage of her head chef privileges, seated with me with self-allocated personal time as her employee’s slaved not ten feet behind her, but rather then attend to her job she decided to hand my ass to me in belittling comments and maddened matter-of-facts; “Karkat, I cannot believe I have to sit here and spell out to you, that it _is as simple as that_ , more so if you’d don’t it earlier, but nonetheless it’s not like you’re confession to running over his woofbeast or whatever you’re only saying sorry for getting overly flustered at him seeing your glutes.”

My hand whipped toward her smirking lips to un-speak the _secrets_ she’d spoken in public, at which she lapped at my palm and giggled at my flailing to wipe her saliva at a passing waiters tailcoat unnoticed; “Shall we revisit that fact a bit more _quietly_ … he saw my glutes Terezi, he literally saw me being an ass how in the ever-loving fuck am I supposed to face the guy who was eye level with my butt?”

“From what you described in _explicit detail_ , he didn’t react all that undesirably, I’m not quite sure of what exactly you’re stressed over.”

“Terezi, he’s not a homosexual.”

She looked at me with the exact same expression I had when John articulated that fact to me initially, like the word had no value to her whatsoever; “Whether being whatever-the-hell-that-is has any kind of influence over John’s reaction doesn’t matter, what matters is that you’re fishing for excuses in a pool of ridiculousness.”

“I’m just scared okay, not only did I drench the boy in moobeast genetic material but I ceased communication with him for an entire ongoing week over something so stupid – I’ve now crowned it as royalty to the history of minor-turned-explosive fuck-ups.”

“You’ve basically made this all worse for yourself, I don’t think John saw it as anything more than a unintended prank, he probably now wonders whether he’d fallen ear-deep into something culturally insensitive – like one’s glutes are to remain pure till the eve of human matrimony.”

I unfettered a groan, enclosing my head into a cage of arms, the cutlery rattling at each bonk of my head. 

“I know, I know, I’m a skid mark who made the one I’m helplessly flushed for worry. Urgh, cull me now.”

Terezi was visibly bored with my panicked prattles, covering a clawed hand over her yawning mouth as she stood to return to work; “I would love to stay here and spoon feed you reassurance, but I have to get back to work Kar. The meals on the house okay?”

I didn’t answer, nose pressed into the table cloth the fact that I’d probably left my future matesprit to agonize over something misunderstood jammed my cranium to the point where my temples throbbed. 

Sensing my being morose, the girl sighed, draping an arm over my hunched shoulders adopting a soothing voice she said; “It’s going to be alright Vantas, don’t worry about it so much. But just know that whether he saw your cute butt, your dainty ankle or even your bare bulge, unless you decide you want to relinquish the memory through murdering him you’re going to run into Egbert sooner or later and then you’ll have no other choice than to speak with him. It’ll be on your shoulders then whether you ruin or reclaim his impending pity for you.”

I left the bistro that day more miserable than I anticipated, and although I sought to prove Terezi wrong, inevitably she’d be proven right as John and I would cross paths.

This entire debacle, I knew, was getting to me bad and there were two options in facing my mistake: remain in a catatonic state within a corner of blankets haunting myself with horror terrors intentionally, or get pre-occupied. As delightful as self-punishment by mental torture sounded, I already had a job and for once in my slothful existence I made an effort and took on extra shifts. The sacrifice being that I couldn’t be a lazy fuck and, despite my fantasies, I couldn’t call my troll boss a stupid fucking faggot (new favourite human insult of the day, Dave promised to supply ‘a swear a week’ if I listened to his material when he needed outside criticisms… and if I called him Dave, even internally). 

On weekdays I usually don’t get home till midnight/early morning when everyone in the house is asleep, then spend the majority of daylight sleeping, so the chances of running into John had reduced from ‘me finding cats cute’ to ‘stumbling upon Beyoncé in our living room’. 

So of course after one particularly late Friday night shift, you can expect my surprise at finding John cross legged in his ghost pyjamas outside my respite-block door – hopefully my near heart attack will be worth Beyoncé’s appearance. 

Pensively he turned to watch me stumble to where he sat, I stood rigid with my fists clenched in my faded jeans and fangs worrying at my bottom lip. John’s expression was unchanged, stoic and patient as he watched my battle between sobbing hysterically and leaving altogether. 

Overwhelmingly deprived from the answers his smouldering eyes demanded, I spun on my heel back toward the door to then have my escape stunted as his hand outstretched to catch my sleeve bringing me to a haphazard stop, I turned expecting to see a wounded expression bred from my neglect but was surprised to see a genial grin in place – though his eyes couldn’t lie, what do humans say, “the eyes are the windows to the soul”? Well if that’s the case then John’s betrayed a subtle trace of tension, clenched in defence readying for my following answer to his question.

My fangs clenched, prepared for the bullets of angry accusations John would predictably aim at my chest. 

“Are you free… well, this afternoon?”

This I didn't expect.

The first answer that launched to mind was ‘hell no I have better things to do fuck off’ but the false look in his eyes caused me to swallow it. 

John and I have not uttered anymore than two syllables to one another in almost seven days, his efforts being shot down by my hasty departures so it would stand to reason that he decided to give up and be patient till I’d shrugged off the odd mood I was in and approached him myself asking for food. That led to seven insufferable days of ghostly wanders, chilling silences and awkward glances. 

Obviously he’d abandoned waiting, and quite frankly I was tired of running; “S-Sure.”

The tourniquet released his eyes, mirth filling to the brim of electric blue, my face burned as he smiled with utter joy; “Awesome, let’s have lunch together, want to go to Subway?”

How could I have ever avoided that face, that gorgeous face that belonged to the most endearingly good-natured human in this entire galaxy? He’s far too good to me, more than I deserve. Past me is so much more of douche than he already was to bring the slightest of hurt upon this marvellous boy, it was the duty of the present Karkat now to compensate for the mistakes of his previous self’s.

“I-I, uh. I’m about to collapse so I might be late, but yeah, okay, whatever, sure, fine.”

And I just had to use every synonym of ‘yes’ in the human dictionary. 

Clambering to his feet John smirked down at me, his scent cradling my think pan into a haze, “Great, wonderful, superb, brilliant, fantastic.”

He’s so full of it. Him and his gorgeously pink face.

With a parting grin John jogged down the corridor, leaving me cradling a hand to my tightened chest willing every molecule of my body to remain pieced together, the swelling elation that uncharacteristically rocketed from toes to horns threatened to break through my cranium in a flourish of fireworks – just for the sake of that smile and this unparalleled sensation, please, Karkat, don’t mess this up again. 

“I am Karkat Vantas, and I am worth something, I am aloud to like him because I am just a lowly troll who asks but only to taste a moment of happiness.”

***

Despite being dead on my feet when walking through the door, I couldn’t sleep, body thrumming in anticipation and nervousness as I glared at the clock on my bedside table urging the alarm to blare me out of bed. Eventually tiring of willing time to fast forward I blindly stumbled toward the bathroom, fingers fumbling not quite accustomed yet to the weird controls of the shower, jets of freezing cold to blisteringly hot water rinsed down my skin. 

Could this be the moment I’ve been pining for since the moment I laid eyes on the human? Will the torturous days of humiliatingly settling for my own hand, substandard fantasies, grit teeth after wet dreams and _just not thinking about it_ finally being drawn to an end? The look in those sparkling cerulean eyes disclosing that this lunch was not the orthodox nonchalant gathering, he had something to say and he betrayed no indication on whether it would something I’d like or hate. I can stand here and imagine the spontaneous result being us embarking on the boyfriends train on route to ‘Awkward Bumping Make Out’ town, but John could lay something on the table that completely demolishes all transport leading to any intimate destination. 

The thought of having my hopes completely devastated… no, I couldn’t even fathom any words in my lengthy dictionary and catalogue of swears to describe how destroyed I’d become. 

Having abused my skin under the torrent of indecisive showers, I savaged my drawers finding nothing that could even remotely buff this piece of dirt into something decent. Each shirt was too grim, pronouncing my scrawny physique and lack thereof in define muscles, every pair of trousers making me look like a douche bag and shoes – don’t even get me started. Eventually I settled with something that wasn’t catwalk material, since the rips in the jeans were more my own handiwork bred from clumsiness and sheer frustration, but made me look less disgusting than most days. By the time I decided to ignore my reflection and just abscond the fuck out of that disaster, I was twenty minutes late and hardly mentally prepared for the situation I was about to waltz straight into. 

Idling by the front door, stressing as to whether to brave the winds with or without that gay (but willingly accepted, shut up) knitted scarf Kanaya made with ‘ _pale sentiment in every stitch_ ’, over my shoulder Gamzee’s respite door clicked the troll himself sluggishly wandering out into the hallway rubbing his eyes and scratching his belly.

Blearily glancing at my fidgeting and toward the kitchen, he turned back to me, yawned and lazily grinned; “G’morning palebro.”

“Sup.”

Shuffling in his crocodile slippers the troll calmly reached for the scarf under scrutiny, fiddling with the ruby tassels and rubbing his paint-less cheek against the fabric; “Rainbow sis can sure make a bitchin’ scarf, I wouldn’t mind having one my motherfucking self.”

His voice was thick and drawled as he commented, I scoffed, “If you can call this monstrosity to masculinity ‘bitchin’’.”

As a rebuke he pressed the pad of his index finger, gently, to my nose; “You ain’t foolin’ no-one Karkipper, that twinkle in your eye when she all up and gave this to you was unmistakable man. You love this neck warmer.”

“I’d like it more if you stopped lapping at the thing, I don’t want any high blood drool slapping in my face when I head out in that fucking hurricane.”

His chuckle was deep, and soothing, nourishing the jitters flourishing in my belly to serenity. Wordlessly Gamzee wrapped the scarf round my neck, settling his hands at either side of my face, his thumb dragging across my cheekbone; “You finally going to go face the Egg-man?”

I tried to nuzzle my nose into the scarf averting my eyes, but Gamzee’s finger strength is ludicrous, he could so easily crush my skull with the slightest of pressure (he wouldn’t even have to strain) but instead decides to caress my cheeks with such moving care. “He demands it, I have no other choice do I?”

His bird’s nest of a mane cradled my face as his forehead touched my own, a crooked finger gliding along my jawline, barely touching, barely there. “You stop worrying that frantic head of yours Skittles, he ain’t gonna cull you or nothing, he wouldn’t even think of it. He’s been scuttling in this house like a little squeak-pest, he’s been lost without you man.”

Gamzee had this phenomenal gift to make me shut up, soothe me with just the languid brogue of his voice, re-organising the car crash grinding my think pan. His honesty akin to a wriggler, he didn’t have the heart to lie, especially to me. “Really?”

I winced at the tremble in my voice, the taller troll simply breathed a laugh tilting so his warm lips brushed north, south, east and west of my face before pecking lightly, platonically to my lips which released a sigh that eased each individual muscle in my shoulders. “Would this bro lie to his bro? He needs you man, like a Strider needs his beats.”

This meeting suddenly seemed far less foreboding, it was no longer; “The Lunch That Could Either Send Me to The Heavens or The Grave”, but just “Lunch with Stupid, Pretty, John”. 

Delivering a peck in return, I hid my face into Gamzee’s neck (totally not having to get on my tippy-toes to even reach his collarbone) before huddling into my favourite, wet-with-clown-drool, scarf and running into the eye of the hurricane. 

***

John was there, sitting (obviously) at our table, flipping and closing his phone anxiously – those navy orbs jolting from clock to table to his hands, from the lip of the window pane I watched his closed ankles shake with his impatience. And that thing, that beautiful creature, was waiting intently for _me_ , yes, this abomination to troll kind. 

I’ve spent to past five minutes just staring at him (well his back if we’re being particular), but just look at him, casual but so fucking _effortlessly_ alluring, the buzz of hair at the back of neck looks just so soft, his broad shoulders pulling the white shirt taut, and the dip of the spine so delectable, perfect for finger gliding. Fluently stunning and he was just sitting there, that was it, and he still managed to render me speechless in his loveliness. 

Everything on my person was suddenly inadequate, a sin under the blessing of his gaze. It took every ounce of willpower to not just turn around and go home, but he just kept looking at that clock those teeth (just asking to be licked) nibbling his lips, eyebrows stitched together – oh for fuck sake Vantas, grow a pair and put the boy out of his misery.

Not without hesitation, I set foot into the cathedral of my demise, Subway is now baptised as the venue where shit happens. Before the door even closed behind me, John’s head whipped to see me walk over the lintel, his entire face glowing under his relief and elation. Every cell in my body shook under the brilliance of his huge smile.

Refusing to look too pleased at his reaction, my fists plunged into my jeans pockets (puncturing a few new holes) scowling at the feet that strode towards John’s arms that were so wide and inviting. Once wrapped round my back his warmth singed through the layers to burn into my skin, feeling his presence so attentively his very eyes reaching and caressing along the places he watched. 

Ducking from his arms I slid into the opposite seat from John, our table fit into the farthest nook of the café (what exactly is Subway?), he laughed as he watched me skid and slip to my chair comfortably wriggling his backside back on his own seat. 

Once sobered from the intoxication of John’s scent I managed speech, “So we going to eat or what?”

John blinked then burst into laughter, bemused I sat through his giggles stung in shame from something unknown, when his earthquake of hysterics died down he apologised; “I’m sorry I just knew that the first thing you were going to say to me after all this time would be food–related and I couldn’t be more happy to hear it.”

Not quite sure if that was something to be happy about or not I pouted into my scarf, heart a complete wreck having been assaulted by the human’s melodious laughter, inhaling deeply from the cotton I could faintly detect Gamzee’s sedative scent which anesthetised any tension bugs crawling under my skin. 

“Well I’m glad since I’m absolutely starved, did you order me anything?”

John nodded enthusiastically; “Yeah, I told the nice lady to bring our subs over when she saw an unmistakably small and grouchy troll skulk into the place bringing the darkest of thunder clouds with him.”

“Oh, well how fucking kind of you.” 

“I mean it in the most lovable way possible Karkat,” my body lurched at the word ‘loveable’, mind reeling in that he put my name and that blessed adjective in the same sentence. Thankfully I was paused in getting off in my pants when presumably the ‘nice lady’ came to bring our toasted sandwiches. 

“One six inch tuna sub, and foot long raw meatball marinara, right?”

John grinned up at her, “That’s right, thanks for waiting for my friend here, I know that’s probably against the Subway rules or something.”

“Oh no it was no problem, really, it was my pleasure.” Oh yeah I’m sure you fucking enjoyed every second of fulfilling his little request didn’t you, lavished in the pleasure it gave you huh?

I watched unnoticeably menacingly as she leant close, far too fucking close, into John as she slid our tray slowly, are you going to leave a fucking slime trail with how slug-slow you're moving, onto our table. John, completely oblivious to her sinuously leisurely movements, clapped his hands together delving into his sub spitting a ‘thank you’ through his tuna.

The woman was taken aback as John completely ignored her subtle advances, gawking as the male lapped at the mayonnaise that slid down his fingers (in serious need of a priest over here to purge the hideous thoughts of _what I could make that tongue do, god_ ). Briefly, and for the first bloody time she certainly doesn’t get any Subway points for ignoring a customer, she glanced at my shit-eating smirk before glowering and storming back to the hole she crawled out from. Fucking right. 

“Aren’t you going to eat, did I get the wrong one?” John asked worriedly, his mouth completely caked in tuna and cucumber. 

Swiftly I fished the masterpiece before tearing a bite of the raw, cheesy deliciousness, through my mouthful I groaned a “Perfect.”

For a while we just ate, first with enthusiasm but when the silence soon teetered from borderline comfortable to blaringly awkward our bites turned to nibbles before John completely set down the remainder of his brutalised sub. 

“You know… why I asked you to lunch, right?” His eyebrow lifted with his enquiry, wiping the mess of his face with the back of his hand, elegant fingers deftly rubbing at the corners of his mouth. 

Falling out of mesmerisation I undug my claws from the bread, far less gracefully wiping away the sauce on my face with my entire forearm. My arm hung in mid-air for a while as I considered my answer, either feigning ignorance to the past few weeks’ discomfort or lying. In the end I took a page out of Gamzee’s book.

I was honest; “Ye-Yeah, I do.”

John nodded, considering my answer (probably not expecting it), before his elbows hovered then landed on the table hands a bridge were his chin sat (I’ve always thought that John had an apt of looking scholarly, his brooding chiselling the finest of pouts to his full lips, you could practically see the cogs spinning between his stitched eyebrows, then the stage were the steam fills his head and he releases the slowest and most spine-tingling of sighs).

The human looked at me, a complicated expression fusing with his typically genial air. I could only press my lips together, inclining my eyes to remain level with John’s but would bounce from wall to wall. Both of us probably waiting for the other to initiate the first blow to this predictably long conversation. 

John, hands on the table (just a hairs breadth from my reach), ignited the canons; “Why have you been avoiding me?”

The seriousness cohered us like cling film, it was odd to sit across from John and not to expect toilet humour and groan inducing puns, with this John I didn’t know what to expect. And with the ambiguity came prickling unease, I sniffed at my scarf again.

I cleared my throat, eyes falling to the teeth-bitten straw sprung out of my cola cup; “I… I was embarrassed-”

“You were embarrassed for a week and a half?” John asked dubiously, his voice was lathered in husk, low and just, urgh, _mind-numbing._

The brunette shook his head, and I was scared that it was out of exasperation, “That excuse would have been far more believable if you didn’t show your face to me for two hours, maybe three. Accidentally seeing your butt Karkat doesn’t call for a week of you turning tail and practically sprinting away from me.”

My voice bounced at the back of my throat to interrupt him and explain, but he just rode through my attempts, eventually I managed to sputter; “I know, but-”

“No, Karkat, you don’t know.”

Was… was that anger? Was John _angry_ with me? John? He’s never directed irritation toward me, not even when I most deserved it and begged for his resentment when I’d done something exponentially stupid. He would just laugh, laugh through the mist of my idiocy. I didn’t quite know how to react, stupefied giving him the aperture to completely inundate me with words of _spite._

John scooted to the edge of his seat, leaning over the table so he occupied the majority of my vision and couldn’t escape his drowning pool-water eyes; “Do you have any idea how concerned I was, I seriously thought I had crossed some kind of cultural line, I was so beside myself with worry that I was making myself sick. I tried everything, everything, Karkat to talk to you but either I couldn’t find you or you’d just leave the room the second I approached you.”

“I’m-”

“Shut up.”

My eyes were _burning_. But I will not cry, I will not, I will not, big trolls don’t cry.

“Karkat, do you have any idea how much you was hurting me?”

I jolted, head hung in ignominy, shoulders jerking with every lip-bitten muffled hiccup I unfettered. Blood red, disgusting, incorrigible tears streaked my scorching cheeks.

John went on, unfazed, but hushed to a whisper barely detectable; “I missed you, I just, your absence was like a punch in the gut. I thought you hated me, but you couldn’t have over something so stupid and I can’t believe that I got so emotional over something this stupid I mean I saw your butt, I didn’t shoot your lusus or something.”

The fact that John also recognised how overstressed everything became mopped up the mess of my insides somewhat, but the point remains that I made John suffer and for that I will never cease to punish myself, especially if that results in jeopardizing our relationship. 

“But, even though I knew you exaggerated, I just couldn’t walk up to you and call you out for being an ass because… well ‘cause I _couldn’t_.”

My knees throbbed with how hard I clenched them, did I detect a hint of mortification? Slyly through my bangs, I caught a storm of a blush kindle along John’s face, his sculpted pianist hand covering his mouth as he sweltered in embarrassment.

My mouth opened to speak but John’s hand shot out to silence me – his hand was on my face, oh Jesus, oh lord – the mouth occupied fingers separated as John exclaimed; “I-I couldn’t because, shit Karkat don’t look at me this is humiliating enough as it is.” 

Frantically, my (still) tear leaking eyes searched the ceiling, the only indication of what John was thinking now being the tone of his voice and the temperature of the hand pressed against my trembling lips. 

“Look Karkat, the re-reason why I didn’t come to you sooner is because you… because you were just so cute!” 

‘Cute’ swelled an inflamed pink in my think pan leaving no room for coherent thought, delirious with how John managed to so naturally compliment me without resorting to belly laughter. I seared to correct him; I’m not cute, my face under that label is a mockery but I knew that I would not be responsible for the noises that would bubble from my lips if I dared to open them. 

Defying John, I couldn’t help it when I looked down to the boy’s beet red, gorgeous, face. He was adorable, pulled into himself in humility, face clenched under the heat of his blush. I just wanted to grab that cherry red face and absorb the warmth – kiss him to paleness. 

“I was just so, jeez, so confused. I mean everything that I thought I knew about myself got out of focus, and you were so adorable I just wanted to wrap you up like a Karkat fajita and gobble you up – not literally eat you, no, but, gosh I don’t know!”

Both hands had clamped in his rippling hair in despair, I could imagine that the words were orbiting his head but he had no way of filching the correct ones and spilling them through his mouth. To be honest I was as equally as confused as he was, I had no idea what this was coming to and where the destination would be, the only thing I was certain was that I could sit here all day watching John get himself further a fluster.

Absently those fingers I adored (and ached to have glide the length of my body as he did with the intricacy he fed the piano) twiddled with his fringe, the fire on his skin managed but still glowing on his nose and at the corners of his bright eyes. 

My voice softly, careful, croaked; “What are you trying to tell me, John?”

He glanced up at me at a complete loss, and I realised that maybe it’s not just me who had met a crossroads of emotions, “I really don’t know Karkat, I thought meeting with you would bring me the answer but… you’ve only muddled my head more.”

My claws plucked odd and ends from the now abandoned sub, frustratingly swiping at the tear tracks on my cheeks managing to leave a scratch. Before I could tend to it begrudgingly, John was first to act whipping out a handkerchief from his back pocket and before I could belittle him on his womanly tendencies his hand was cradling my wounded cheek, those fingers so gentle against my grey skin. 

John opened his mouth, slowly; “I think…”

He dropped the ‘kerchief, the heat of his palm thawing my skin till it felt tender like a bruised plum, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.

“Karkat, I think being without you for so long made me realise something important-”

“Stop.”

His hand jerked, hanging where my face used to be as I twisted from his grip. The blue-eyed human tilted his head, bewildered at my interjection. Advancing his protests my voice rose, rickety and loud; “Just stop talking shit-face, because there is only so high you can bring my hopes before you drop them and they plummet. Because there is no way this can be happening, you cannot be about to say what I think you are and to stop myself from being sorely disappointed we’re going to hit the pause button right here and let it rot, let the popcorn stale and leave the cinema.”

John had rapidly gone from forlorn to irritated, his hand descending to the table and balling into a fist; “Kar-”

“No, just no John, I do not deserve this not after what I’ve put you through. And I can’t go through with it because I know that either I’ll hurt you or you me and I’m too chicken-shit to even start this so-”

“What about me Karkat, what if I want to have this happen? Are you seriously going to be blinded by your own self-contempt and selfishness that you’re going to shoot down the confession I haven’t even said yet? Is this seriously happening, are you going to do this to me?”

“Yes John,” oh the scowl on his face could have poisoned me, “and I’m going to tell you why: because I am a piece of shit. I will never treat you the way you deserve, and John you can do so much better than me. And yes, this is a dream come true, trust me John if this is really happening then I’m as high as a fucking kite. But this can’t be happening, this isn’t because there is no way, no way on this shitball of a planet that you could ever feel that way about me-”

“Karkat you never bothered to ask!” John bellowed, making a passing customer jump ten feet in the air. 

Words that elbowed through my throat fell into my gut, fresh sobs through my tirade freely cascading as I was silenced. John’s fingers clawed into the table, jaw fixed and I could feel his foot tap furiously against the scuffed laminate since his legs were so fucking long he had to stretch them till they hit to back of my chair legs to be comfortable.

“W-What do you mean?”

John rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air, when his iridescent sapphire eyes bore into me I stiffened under its smoulder; “Karkat, anyone with two brain cells to rub together could tell that I’ve always had a soft spot for you.”

If I wasn’t so fucking grown up, I would have passed out. 

Realising what he’s just said John blew up in a flush, a hand nursing his scorching neck; “Yeah it may not have always been in a romantic nature, but you’ve always been special to me. I smile like a goof whenever I see you slouch in a room with your child scaring glare and murderous snarl, I just can’t help myself. I’d break my neck running to catch up with you if I thought I’d seen you in the street and then laugh at myself since when do you ever go outside? If I wasn’t wondering where you were and what you were doing, I was looking for you so I could be a part of where you are and what you were doing. I’d drive Dave insane since at every opportunity I was telling him something funny you did or said, until he put an ‘Anti-Vantas’ disclaimer on every conversation we had.”

He’s lying, he has to be, there’s no way, no way, no way-

“I went to such great extents to defend you, I was almost arrested for assaulting that jackass who poured his milkshake over your head. I would even challenge _Dave_ if he went a little too far in bullying you-”

“Dave is a little dweeb, I’m a fucking gladiator compared to his scraggy ass and that’s saying something since I am the poster boy for the scrawny and squares.”

John’s smile was dazzling, sparkles and rose petals flew in my eyes under its radiance; “I can’t even stay mad at you for more than a minute, you just… _do_ something to me.”

I was starting to get a little embarrassed, over-fucking-joyed, but still mighty self-conscious. My body has never undergone such erratic changes of potent emotion in such a short time – in such shock that I was still motherfucking crying. 

“Anyway,” the boy continued, his eyes as calm as a still lake of sun-kissed water, they glimmered as he beamed; “You’ve always been special to me you stupid idiot.” 

Oh yeah I was definitely crying out of sheer euphoria, his last statement flipping the switch from sniffles to relentless wails; “It was only when you took yourself away from me, that I realised that my obsession may’ve tilted toward the intimate kind.”

Like a cracked jar of oozing honey, the years of suppressed emotions, self-restraint and torment deluged from me. Torrents of tears raced from my clenched eyes, sinking into the scarf which was a garment of intermingled scents but John’s – as always – conquered them all, just how he did when he won my absolute worship.

John didn’t quite know what to do as mucus and tears streamed down my disaster of a face, blubbering like a complete fucking moron, but not finding the brakes to stop. I knew that I was making an ass of myself but it felt so _good_ to let it all go, my entire body was a wound that throbbed with every sob but I knew that now it was finally healing. 

I had become so wild in my weeping that it was hard to catch my breath, seeing that I was struggling John smoothed the hair at the crown of my head, lifting my chin as he ‘shushed’ me soothingly, ‘c’mon Karkat, that’s it, it’s okay I’m here, just breathe’. 

Oh god I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him. I’m so helplessly and irrevocably besotted by him. 

The boy before me hooked an arm around my neck, our foreheads pressed together so tightly I hoped he would be fused to me, to just stay right here at this table with me in front of all these people as I hysterically bawled. 

“Hey, Karkat, I think I like you.”

My voice cracked with the force of the choked cry that erupted out of me, my weakly balled hands futilely wiped the fluids covering my face, John’s breathy chuckle blanketing me in incomparable rapture. 

I wanted it official, so just to be sure I stammered; “L-Like, li- _hi_ -ike?”

Even with him so close the cheek splitting grin could have lit up a night sky and it left me soaring, “Yeah. Like, like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa this escalated quickly, I hope it didn't seem too rushed.  
> And man, so many Karkat-tears which I'm sure is very uncharacteristic but he's just so flushed for John and *insert litany of excuses*  
> Also I realised that I've alternated in using American and British phrases for things, so I'm sorry if one minute it's 'couch' and the next it's 'sofa' haha.  
> Yeah so, I hope you enjoyed it, sorry if not and hopefully the third chapter will be written up soon~


	3. Dinner

You’d definitely think that after the tear-jerking (literally… shut your face) scene that took place under the roof of Subway the most magical place on Earth, that John and I immediately embarked on our romantic train ride to matespritship with the sunset wind lapping at our locks and rose tinted clouds shadowing our adoring faces as we lavished in one another’s eyes, blue meets auburn, a technicolor storm of passion. Well, you’d be wrong. 

Excuse me while I stir your memory by reminding you of this one problem; I am an awkward shitfuck. So as soon as we returned to the vestibule of our humble abode and John gentlemanly removed my coat but grasped both ends of my (now branded lucky) scarf, a gentle grin anchoring his lips loosely, the fringes of thick lashes hooding his ardent eyes; I knew that he was going to kiss me. And while under the deliriousness and frantic mesh of panic as those plump lips drew closer, all the mutant blood in all the world ever raced to my head and I was just so exhilarated, and terrified, happiness clenching my throat and – I passed out.

Trust me, no-one is more humiliated than I am. The boy of my dreams, trapped me with the pure intent of sending me to nirvana, and I faint like a complete damsel. 

On the plus side John said it was ‘mighty adorable and he couldn’t even laugh as I swooned, only able to blush and squeal like a mad-man as he cuddled the hell out of my limp body’. Contrariwise, I was unconscious for when John cuddled the hell out of me. 

Dave thought it was fucking hilarious, because of course John told him, but he stilled my angry flailing by using his body as a buttress as he pinned me to the wall and whispered apologies breathily to my ear (and I swear the very tip of his tongue grazed the burning edge of my jaw), my vision misted and voice trembled and then Dave told us to get the hell out of his apartment. 

So yeah, we were newly-boyfriends, feverishly awaiting the touch of the other and rancid with need. Unfortunately the physical aspect had yet to bud on the sturdy stem of our relationship, the giddiness and singing of sweet nothings we had down, but my body had hardwired itself to malfunction and shut down the second John spontaneously attempted to wildly ravish my lips – before they even touched I was on the ground. 

Thus on the boyfriend check list we had; held hands (check), snuggled in a single blanket (check), childishly combed one another’s hair (check), tickle fought (check, though we already did that way before we become a thing), nervously mumbled how we felt for one another and describing the adoration that betook us when the other entered a room (check). However, in relation to turning the page and addressing the far more risqué requirements of romantic affiliation; grinding, kissing, ruining the other, and all round getting down on it had yet to be addressed. And to be perfectly honest it was destroying me how the only thing I ever truly wanted was just a few dust motes away from me, and the jubilation carries me to unconsciousness.

John was an absolute sweetheart, each time I came too my back would be comfortably fixed to his warm chest, huddled in his protective arms. A spill of velvety chocolate hair tickling my cheek and a burning forehead singeing my shoulder, as I’d reluctantly fidget his muscle laced arms would clench, legs crossing over my extended ones to hold me in place.

He’d mouth these word against my collarbone (he was a frickin’ giant, I swear), “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t overwhelm you like that, but I just can’t stop myself I want to _have you._ ” It took every molecule of self-restraint to stop myself from fainting again. 

Despite how eager I was to have John completely smother me with his thick scent and solid length of his body, there was one variable I naively didn’t consider. 

It was a Sunday evening where the winds gusts were particularly ruthless, the apartment surprisingly fully occupied, Tavros and Gamzee lounging across the sofa duelling in a listless game of thumb wars. The former minding his enormous horns and he rested his head atop the latter, who was habitually dozing off whilst humming ‘The Bad Touch’. John and I were crouched at the kitchen table over a ‘The Amazing Spiderman’ comic book, getting into a hushed heated discussion over which love interest was less insufferable. Mary-Jane was being pulverised pitifully. Our shoulders would scruff as the pages were flipped back and forth, each touch collecting into the warm ball of bliss pooling at the centre of my belly, he smelled crisp and my mood was frothy like champagne bubbles. 

As it drew to nine o’clock, John adorably stressed over the health of Nitram’s lolling neck and lightly roused the snoozing pair awake. Gamzee whined gently pushing John’s hand aside (I quickly jumped from my chair) and nuzzled into the bronze blood’s chest, the aforementioned troll was more reasonable and stretched awake, far less delicately shaking the high blood till his eyes creaked open.

Grumpily Gamzee rubbed his left eye, pouting at his matesprit, “Now why’d you have to go and wake a brother from his power-nap, I was right in the heart of snuggling I’ve never been closer.”

Rolling his eyes, the bull-horned male stroked a hooked finger up and down the clown’s cheek, “I’m sorry Gamz, but while you were all comfy with half your body weight crushing me, I was getting pretty uncomfortable y’know?”

Grumbling, my moirail extended his trunk-like limbs before grasping Tavros’ hand and pulling him toward the direction of his respite-block, “This shall be continued, night all. This brother’s gotta get his nap back on, Egg-man remind me to go shopping for some of your folk tomorrow.”

John giggled lowly, “Sure thing, sleep tight guys.”

Gamzee gave me a parting shoulder hug, and a rather heavy peck to my cheekbone afore the pair stumbled out of sight, Tavros beaming like a goof and just barely able to wave before he was yanked and a door slammed. 

Wiping away high blood slobber from my face John toothily grinned, masking the previous kiss I received with his own which lingered longer and burned further. We’d decided to ignore the mountain of dishes left from the departed pair covering it with a teatowel, John betting on whether if we pulled it away dramatically enough it’ll disappear – I called him a stupid ass and he ruffled my hair. 

Perusing our stack of video games my finger glided down the spines, pausing once and a while when John spoke from across the room, “I’ve just realised that we haven’t eaten yet.”

“My stomach did three hours ago.” I retorted, which was a lie since Egbert’s presence itself satiated every cavity in my entire body, I was full with John. 

The human laughed distantly as he inspected the cupboards, from over my shoulder he sighed in frustration, ignoring his indecisiveness I plucked ‘Crash Bandicoot’ from behind the rack and moved to plug in the console when an Egbert landed on my back.

“What the fu- hey, Snorlax, I’d like my spine undented thank you, get off of me.”

John inexplicably garbled noises into my ear and completely rested his entire body weight against me, “Don’t know what to eat.”

My tongue clicked at the roof of my mouth, fighting to stay on my feet as this fucking goliath sagged against me, “We’re stocked with food, what the hell do you mean you don’t know what to eat?”

John griped, nosing the back of head, prickles peppered at the base of my neck pleasantly, “I mean I don’t fancy anything that we’ve got, my tummy didn’t lurch, like, at all.”

“You’re tummy’s being a bitch, don’t take any shit from it, it’ll take what it’s given.” 

I tugged the arms slumped over my shoulders, palming the expanse of his freckle sprayed arms then fingering the webs of skin between John’s gifted fingers, “Karkat you should never upset a stomach. Besides it’s a Sunday, and its human law to have a good hearty dinner that ready’s you for Monday. You don’t want to break the law do you Karkat?”

I dampened the inside crook of John’s elbow with open-mouth kisses, gooseflesh raising beneath my lips. “You’re breaking the law for being too adorable, I’ll tell the cops on you John, I swear to God.”

As John giggled up a storm I wobbled under his tremor’s, thankfully I was relived from his bulk as he stood but keeping his arms wrapped around my head as the slight plea for me to continue bleaching his skin with kisses, “I think this is a hunger that only take-out can satisfy, how about it, want to go halfsie’s?”

Every word that comes out of this boy’s mouth is just so _cute_ , pausing from my bracelet of pecks at John’s wrist I glanced at the window, a rim of snow had started to feast on the window’s, I answered the tapping finger at my jaw with a nip; “I doubt even the most audacious of Jake English’s would brave that blizzard let alone a delivery guy.”

John’s shrug brushed my earlobes, “If we’re talking about your generic pizza-guy then you may have a point, but tis the season were teenagers desperate for a nickel would shave their heads to get paid.”

Pensively nodding I inspected John’s nails, too embarrassed to peer at the face perched at my shoulder; “I could go for some pizza right now.”

The human fist pumped and planted a hard kiss to my jawline, “Pizza it is.” 

We quavered in a limbo between wanting to face the instability of my wakefulness by devouring one another and separating, John’s fingers twitching at my clothed navel and his thick breath moistening the hoary planes of my neck.

Eventually John unstitched from my back to place our order – the abandoned warmth making the muscles convulse slightly – and it took me a few minutes to refocus my eyes and steady my knees. 

Three pizza places laughed through the receiver at John’s request, the prospect of food looking pretty grim till the human unearthed a ‘Papa John’s’ leaflet whom were more than willing to oblige. 

As I’d made a nest of sofa pillows, controller in hand as the Playstation booted up, John shuffled past me leaning into my ear to drone that he was going to have a shower before the pizza arrives – my answer belated since the depth of his whisper reached through my skin and tickled my bones. 

As far as incomes go John and I were paupers compared to our remaining two tenants, a bad bartender having to chip into his wage to compensate for shattered wineglasses and customers tequila soaked trench coats leaving next to nothing for food and essentials, John’s apprenticeship hardly supplying a reasonable salary not that the boy particularly cared since the tips of his fingers burned with intent. It was sheer luck that landed Gamzee into the arts industry, finding solace in the grain of a canvas and anthology of acrylic paints he just happened to trip over a talent scout one miserable morning and caught a break. Tavros was actually the best off with us all combined, since Gamzee’s revenue was grounded on subjectivity, he was a football coach for the most promising band of players. For pride’s sake we each decided to keep our income to ourselves, being dependent on one another was just a way of asking to start arguments. So since it was mainly John who paid toward our Sunday roasts it wasn’t something he could afford to do every weekend, regardless of how popular he became on those evenings. 

There was a period where we rotated cooking duty, all being unapt males with two left hands the first few weeks of rooming together was fraught with indigestion and stomach cramps, each meal put in front of us being eaten with a grimace. John kind of lucked out because he had no idea how edible his food was and he actually bothered to ask our preferences (whereas I childishly grumbled into the mixing bowl that they’d fucking eat what I slaved over, as long as my belly was happy who the hell else cares?), hence when a collective sigh of relief amassed the table like candlelight the human knew that he was inevitably the chef when we were too lazy to lift a whisk (which was most of the time, poor guy) the ingredients pre-bought of course, we weren’t brutes giving John a wet willy as he cried over a delectable lemon meringue pie. 

Our working body of dipshits was rust spewed but tolerable.

John apparently was planning to take full advantage of our water bill, shucking a quick rinse for a full blown pool party as he hadn’t even stepped out the bathroom door as the pizza guy arrived. In the heat of a boss battle with Dingodile who was being a Dingledick, clouding the screen with profanities as the doorbell persisted.

“John, you fatass answer the door, ah shi- bastard!” Grounding an aggressive thumb into the square button, lip bitten with intensity.

“Kind of in the middle of something here Karkat.” John’s voice rang through the apartment, a soapy hand waving gestures for me to answer the door.

“For the love of – fine!” 

John left his share of the bill lodged into the front door handle, and trying not to acknowledge the fact that a fine specimen of man was currently lathered in suds and stark naked under a deluge of running water not four feet away from me, I answered the damn door paying the poor frostbitten teen who’s iced fingers dawdled at the base of our warm pizza boxes. 

“Hey, hang on a second kid,” placing the boxes to the floor, I hastily rummaged through my back packets producing a ten dollar bill and a stick of gum, “here, a reward for being a fucking maniac and delivering in this blizzard, if that isn’t dedication toward a shitty job I don’t know what is.”

Lopsidedly the young boy grinned, jogging down the corridor with a wave and; “Thanks a lot man!”

Of course John wasn’t crazy enough to order a single pizza to share, yes I love the guy, I will share with him my body, my mind, my soul and my heart, but if that little dickass even pointed a finger in the direction of my food he’d lose an arm. It’s quite romantic really that he remembered the ferociousness of my appetite. 

There was no etiquette to eating pizza, you dine like how it was intended – with your palms smeared in grease, cheese gluing your fingers together and slapping your chops appreciating the meal God has brought before you, Amen. 

John’s box was tossed haphazardly to the arm of the sofa, whilst I returned to my gaming arena, flipping the lid it seemed that John’d specially requested for personalised toppings since my eyes met with an alignment of raw pepperoni exhibiting the words; “Dimple Butt”. I could practically feel his ‘Prankster’s Gambit’ rubbing up against me.

I quickly made a few adjustments to the human’s meal, before facing my own very pleased with myself.

I adopted a hand coordination of controller, pizza, swiping at my thigh and controller. On a rampage of apple collecting so swift it could be done with the controller upside down, the handles become somewhat slippery with residue cheese grease – slipping from my grappling fingers when, coincidently, Crash was headed straight toward a fort of ‘TNT’. I’d like to say I took the loss graciously, but it took a while for John to forgive me due to the oily smear that besmirched the TV screen. 

Speaking of which, subsequent the tragic blunder, a misted aroma of cocoa butter glided through the sitting room fastening to the bottom of my nose and massaging my sinuses.

The corners of my lips quirked when I heard the unmistakable sound of John popping open his pizza box and having a good hard look; “Karkat, that is just crude and tasteless, shame on you. Your lusus would be so disappointed.”

Promptly pausing the game I twisted to reprimand John for wasting a valuable resource and tell him what he fucking deserved, but the tirade that bubbled in my gullet was vanquished by the resilient sensations of inexorable _arousal_. 

One of the pleasures of being a part of the Egbertian lifestyle, is having the privilege in watching him grow. I count myself lucky that I saw John in his early years as a gangly, awkward teenager, thereafter witnessing the years of arduous villain slaying and ruthless genetics which made his muscles leaner, height stupidly taller and shoulders broader.

Without even a hint of shame, a six foot Mr. Egbert cavalierly sauntered into the room, a smile to melt hearts and ceasefire, wearing nothing but a polka-dot towel. The blood in my body conflicted as it rushed from south to north not too sure where to place itself first and which responded more fiercely, my maiden blush or aching groin. 

I was well aware that I had all rights to marvel at each hill of skin Johnathon had to offer, but there was still something rude to gawking – having said that it was difficult to lift my jaw from the floor. The little shit recognised me and giddily waved, moving to the kitchen for (I can only guess) a can of fizzy. 

His defying gravity locks were wetted into ruffed waves, droplets of excess water cascading down the runway of John’s lean bicep. The muscles in his back as he examined the fridge rolled over his bones fluidly, patchwork childhood scars stretched and darkly thick – delicate wails of skin sewn together in sinews and tissue. One that particularly held my attention wormed toward the slight cleft of John’s lower back. John swerved to lean against the kitchen table point blank in my direction, titling back his chin as his adam’s apple bobbed with the Cola he drank. The jungle on his head was complimented with the slight stains of body hair, fine curls shaping his chest, flushed dark pink nipples buried beneath. John’s shirts absolutely undermine the firm distinctness of his body, pale skin hugging the ribbons of muscle, jutting bone pulling it taut. John Egbert, was stunning. 

A sparking blush torched my skin, so much so tears beaded at the corners of my eyes. There was one detail on John’s tummy that was making a mess of my rationality, a fine trail of pubic hair leading from the human’s navel loped downward toward the hem of his towel-clad hips, growing wispier and denser the further the stream flowed. John’s treasure trail, was causing serious damage.

Troll’s bodily hair consists of the mess congregated at the top of our skulls, you could scour our bodies with magnifying glasses and you wouldn’t find a root anywhere else. Dave initially alerted me of Egbert’s lumberjack physique, growing himself a forest beneath his clothes just shy of bursting through the seams. To be perfectly honest I wasn’t too sure of finally setting my lips against the tense stomach that has alluded me for so long, and getting a mouth full of fur. But clearly the nooklicker over exaggerated… and even more lucidly, I was far more attracted to that one strip of hair than what is mentally capable. 

Which was emphasised when my blossoming face couldn’t contain its assault, blood abruptly spurting from my nose. And in that moment, I swear, we were anime.

I wasn’t too sure whether Egbert was doing this intentionally to give me a heart attack, or he generally wanders through the household in the dead of winter scantily clad. Whatever the reason, I refused to divulge how effected I was by his bare skin.

“You’re still playing ‘Crash’? You do realise how much you suck as that game, right?”

His baritone voice liquefied, rinsing down the back of my neck, determined the hammering of my thumbs quickened – eyes focused on the screen, “Shut the fuck up, nothing could be as dire as watching you’re attempt at ‘Just Dance 4’, you made me understand what it meant when they ‘dancing like a white man’.”

“At least I know I suck, you’re stuck in pitiful self-denial.” My stomach jumped as two bare legs landed on either side if my folded ones, hints of leg hair dusting the thighs, a black pepper stubbled chin rested on my shoulder.

“I…” My body was alight, hypersensitive to John’s every twitch – the melodic rhythm of his fingertips against the stream of veins at my wrist, the bristle of his unshaved cheek against my own, the jolt of our awkward knees – his presence ringing within me like a melody. “I-I’d be doing just fine if you wasn’t yammering on at me, shush now, there’s a man at work here.”

Folded hands nestled at the root of my belly, gently kneading his naked knuckles against my clothed abdomen. At the epicentre of everywhere we connected, pulses of intense shudders radiated like rolling tides beneath my skin. 

“Alright then big man, let’s see you sail through this level without a single lost life.”

Feigning that the firm press of his body wasn't reducing me to jelly, I scoffed at his challenge; “That’s barely a trial bulge-muncher, at least test me with something that retains some actual difficulty.”

Something alerted me that I’d fallen into a trickster’s web, dewed with mischievous resolve, without so much as trying. John’s tactful palms ironed my thighs steadily before coiling his spindly fingers just beneath my crossed knees, tight like spiralled ivy garrotting an iron gate. 

“I see, well let’s make this more challenging for you shall we, Mr. Big Show?”

I almost laughed at his poor attempts at taunting nicknames, when a scorching set of lips blistered the juncture where neck meets shoulder, voice promptly hooked like a caught fish at the bottom of my throat. 

Despite the blue-eyed humans (successful) assault, my tenacity inflamed spreading steadfast stubbornness through my veins and thickening my endurance under John’s skilful fingers. My eyes fixed on the screen, digits gracefully swerving over the controller hitting buttons with reputed precision. And for a single moment, I felt I’d finally won over my desire. 

I thought too soon.

My thumb slipped subtly, but noticeably, sending Crash teetering on the brink of falling into a river of freezing water. My sense catching up with my clouded mind to send him back to firm ground, John’s breath (which had intentionally been surging into my eardrum with specific currents that bathed the length of my spine in syrupy tingles) bluntly carrying muted laughter.   
“That was a close one, huh, Karkat?”

I didn’t answer, since a sense dwindling sensation prevented me from doing so. 

“Careful there, you almost ran into that bat.”

Chest pressed to my shoulder blades; “John.”

“Quick, get on that bonus plate, ah man you just ran right past it. Are you even trying?”

Rolling hips at my lower back; “Johnathon.”

“Did I mention that you had to get _all_ the boxes, you can’t smash ‘Crash’ half-assed y’know, it brings shame to our family.”

Hammering heart puncturing my ribs; “John-!”

“Think of the children, Karkat.”

“Shut it.”

If anything, I should receive recompense for the lengthy time I managed to withstand this asshole’s befuddling ministrations. Not just anyone could avoid spinning into a wall of ‘Nitrate’ while an Egbert (who asserted his innocence) languorously dragged its nose at the sensitive grain of hair at the back of my ear, painting it with heat. 

Notwithstanding the further I carried this suit of determination, the heavier John’s mischievousness dove through its cracks. 

Abandoning the subtlety, John bore a brazenness that coalesced all the colours of happiness imaginable and untiringly finger-painted me with them. The brunette’s wandering hands dipped lower in the falls of my thighs, pungently rubbing wide circles provoking upsurges of fizzy stimulation to drone at my inner thighs. Simultaneously insatiably mouthing at the back of my burning neck, his saliva cooling the fire on my skin. 

It was clear who had the upper hand in this particular predicament, my once fluid gaming fingers clumsily wandering from button to button drunkenly. Mouth draped open, clouds of aroused breath roasting my drool glistened lips. 

Each muscle unwound, John’s hands removed from my twitching legs to bury into sweat dampened hair and press at my sensitive scalp, expertly avoiding contact with the thrumming horns which sent sweetened flows of endorphins through my bloodstream. My neck pliantly rolled with John’s leading palms, as he toiled to secrete pleasure thickened groans from me. 

All attention was focused on the areas John caressed and pressed, controller dropped as I moulded my hands above his own which were tracing hard lines against my waist.

A chuckle laced with wispy lust poured over my shoulder, “You’ve been eaten by a leaping narwhal.”

My heavy-lids opened as filmed ruby eyes vaguely glanced at a blackened screen asking if I wished to continue, of course, but not with Crash he’s a lost cause anyway.

“The only thing I care about at the moment is being eaten by _you_.”

Giant hands trembled beneath my moist palms, resuming in their hard caresses with a charring fervour. Everywhere were his hands and everything was John – all-encompassing drenched in his scent, sighs and harbouring touch. Terrified that if he detached from my body I’d fall apart limb by limb. At the same time I was exhilarated, so mind-boggingly happy I could cry, I never wanted him to stop.

Distantly I recognised that I had yet to pass out, when it dawned on me that my limit could only be exceeded when confronted by those limitless deep ocean blue eyes. 

As hands sloped to the back of my legs, lascivious lips searing my craned neck raw, I sensed an unmistakable pressure insist at the base of my groin; the arched slant of my bone-bulge ablaze and tingling as it prepared to unsheathe for the writhing mass of my bulge, and the trickle of genetic material producing from my weeping folds bringing my head back to John’s shoulder in unrelenting _need_. 

A spasm of reason brought sentience to my lust obscured awareness, the catalyst being those roaming hands that began to descend down the valley of my inner thighs; in John’s perspective I’m an _alien_ , which indicated some differences in behaviour, in culture… and in sexual reproductive organs, oh Jesus Christ on a shit stick John’s going to _freak out_. Tongue desire-thickened I didn’t have time to tell John to stop, stop, I know how you’re going to react and it’s going to kill me please, _please_.

Not fully extracted, but enough that the slight slip of my bulge was outlined through the shorts, (since somewhere along the way my legs were spread with the backs of my knees resting on John’s crossed thighs) John sunk closer toward something more foreign than he could ever imagine. My mind was screaming for the human to cease, but the eagerness of my gasping skin soaked the heat spreading from John’s fingers. 

Gradually, slowly, John’s firm hand pressed beautifully to my crotch. The tips of his fingers rubbing the lowermost folds of my nook, his wrist the pulsing tip of my bulge. I curled my back into a perfect arch, unfettering the loudest and most heartfelt of moans. With a swiftness that was almost painful, my bulge fully unsheathed like a lizard’s tongue, and John finally reacted. 

As if my crotch snapped at his hand, the pianist’s arm rapidly withdrew, the unexpected movement of his shoulder causing me to flop sideways along John’s lap. A cold wash of pure dread extinguished the thrashing fires of arousal, bulge withdrawing just as fast as it appeared – pain enclosed my pelvis briefly. A purely metallic zest pinched my gums, as I swallowed the look of pure _fear_ that beleaguered John’s face, staring at the hands that wandered over me so lovingly and with such passionate intent like they’d encountered a nightmare in its truest form. 

Trying profusely to restrain my tears, I jumped to my feet in chorus with John looking at me with a desperately apologetic expression; “Karkat, wai-”

Hand pressed over the lower half of my warm face, I stumbled quickly over John’s grappling hands toward the corridor, grey fingers a net catching the cascading tears. 

I’m such an idiot, so stupid, how did I not see this coming? Of course finally having the matesprit of my dreams would inevitably come with implications, why was I blinded by how seemingly perfect everything was – looking through rose-tinted glasses I forgot to acknowledge that I was an alien in John’s standpoint, and that only leads to disgust and soul-shattering heartbreak. I’m so stupid, _just so fucking stupid._

“Karkat, please, it just surprised me is all, c’mon look at me – _Karkat!_ ”

John was just a step too far behind me, removing my hands from my pointed ears I wrestled with my door before slamming it shut before John’s wounded dull-blue eyes. 

Devastated, I slid to the floor, back pressed against the fist-pounded door as John’s miracle-working hands urgently battered it. Crawling, limbs numb and grief-weakened as if sacks of rocks hung from my elbows, I retrieved a strewn pillow before squeezing it against my curled chest staining it with discoloured ruby tears. 

***

It felt like an eternity before John disappeared from the other side of the assailed door, fraught with trenches and door knob slightly askew, as it felt impossible that only hours prior the human and I were tangled by fevered limbs and mingled breaths. 

From what was the certainty of our cohesive beating hearts, concisely harmonising to one another’s tune, transformed to an unjust rhythm were the strings of our instruments were loose and incompatible. And I couldn’t help but blame myself for the shortcomings that I ignorantly didn’t consider.

**Author's Note:**

> This was not were this fanfic was going, such a waste of food.  
> 


End file.
